


Carpe Noctem

by umakoo



Series: Suspended in Dusk [3]
Category: Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Soul Bond, Temporary Character Death, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:06:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1424530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umakoo/pseuds/umakoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Third and final part in my vampire AU series. Tom and Chris have been together for ten years and Tom is finally ready to truly seize the night with Chris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carpe Noctem

**Author's Note:**

> This part contains temporary character death and dark themes. Kudos and hugs to Daria, Becky, Amber and Schaudwen for the beta and all the help :)

The headlights of Tom's Ford cleaved through the darkness as they drove down a narrow dirt road that twisted between open fields. There had been no street lamps since they got off the main road. Even the lights of the nearest village were about to disappear behind a small hill.

 

Tom raised his eyes from the map when the car hit another pothole. He glanced at Chris, who was fiddling with the radio and cursing under his breath as the station kept disappearing, Bowie's baritone fading off into distant crackle.

 

"Eyes on the road, love."

 

Chris gave up on the radio and leaned closer to the windscreen to peer out at the darkness.

 

"Are you sure you're reading that thing right? I'm beginning to think we're-”

 

"Don't say it!” Tom exclaimed. "We're not lost. I'm telling you, I know exactly where we are.”

 

"Yeah? And where's that?” Chris grumbled, unconvinced.

 

"Well...”

 

Tom consulted the rumpled map once more, fixing his reading glasses on the bridge of his nose, but truth be told, he couldn't be sure the road they were on was even marked on the map. He should have bought the damn sat-nav Chris always nagged him about, but such a modern contraption would be an eyesore in his vintage Ford.

 

Chris flicked the windscreen wipers on to clear the window of the small drizzle of water that kept falling from the dark sky above Thanet. "I just hope we get there by dawn...” he sighed.

 

"Of course we will,” Tom said, placing a reassuring hand on Chris' thigh. "Oh, look!" He pointed at a large shadow in the distance. "There it is!”

 

Chris turned his luminous eyes to the left and his keen sight allowed him to see the old country house beyond a patchwork of fields. He steered the car down a long, straight strip of muddy road that led to the estate, breathing a sigh of relief when they were finally parked on the gravel in front of the large house; he was never very eager to travel if he didn't know exactly where he was going, the fear of dawn now part of his very nature.

 

They were a few miles away from the village and there were no farmhouses nearby. Stars peeked through small cracks in the rain clouds and the darkness around them was so complete that Chris was briefly reminded of his childhood camping trips in the Australian outback.

 

"Welcome to Merriwall Hall,” Tom declared as they got out of the car.

 

Chris took Tom's hand to guide his steps as they approached the ominous-looking old house.

 

"Oh dear,” Tom sighed, “I think this place might be in worse shape than I thought.”

 

Chris was sure Merriwall Hall had been quite a sight in its heyday, but years of neglect had left the place in a desolate state. The red brick walls were buried under wildly sprawling vines, and the vast grounds around the house appeared to be full of overgrown hay and unkempt trees and shrubbery.

 

“How long did you say this place has been in your family?”

 

“Since before the First World War,” Tom said. “But I haven't been here in years, not since I was a boy.” He started to dig through the pockets of his black peacoat for the keys he'd received at his Nan's estate inventory, brushing aside some of the vines that hung over the door to get to the lock.

 

“The family ran into some financial troubles when I was at Eton, and once we got back on our feet, Nan got ill with arthritis and summers in the countryside were a thing of the past. I doubt anyone's bothered to come here in decades.”

 

Tom jammed the key in and out, but the lock appeared to be rusted shut.

 

"Here, let me give it a try,” Chris offered. He turned the key with a sharp wrist movement and the door clicked open. "You want me to go in first?”

 

Tom nodded, clinging to Chris' shoulders as they stepped into the dark house.

 

Chris let out an impressed whistle, taking in his surroundings. "Crikey! This place is huge.”

 

There was a large staircase in the entrance hall that dominated the space, and the high walls were covered with old paintings, some of them hidden under white sheets. There were a few empty spots on the wall above the second floor landing, and Chris assumed the missing paintings had been sold.

 

“Damn, there's no electricity,” Tom sighed as he fiddled with the light switch by the nearest door. “I think the generator is in the small brick building on the other side of the house. Do you think you could-”

 

“I'm on it,” Chris nodded. He fetched their bags from the boot of the car and brought them in for Tom before venturing into the gardens.

 

Tom dug through the leather suitcase for the torch he'd packed, knowing they weren't likely to have electricity since the house had been vacant for over two decades.

 

He shone the torch at his feet and began to walk down the long corridor ahead of him, years of childhood memories flooding back with every step.

 

The house itself had always been a little intimidating to Tom, its sheer size and Victorian grandeur overwhelming in the eyes of a small boy, but Tom had spent some of the happiest days of his childhood within these walls.

 

It was usually around the end of July, a few weeks before Tom had to go back to school when his parents would put Tom and his sisters on a train to Kent, along with their five cousins. They were looked after by their Nan who liked to spoil them all rotten, stuffing them full of lemon cakes and sweet tea, letting them roam the house as they pleased.

 

Tom had always enjoyed outdoor games, and the large estate offered a great backdrop for lazy afternoons of hide and seek and treasure hunts. The house was built on the coast and a trip to the beach was always just a small hike away. Tom and his cousin Hamish would often retreat to the small cave they had discovered between the steep cliffs at the water's edge, and it was in that cave where Tom had his first kiss.

 

Hamish' lips had tasted of salt and stale chewing gum and he had given Tom his entire collection of seashells and a Guns N' Roses album to keep quiet about the kiss.

 

Hamish and his wife had moved to the States years ago, but Tom sometimes wondered if his cousin still remembered that day in the seaside cave.

 

Most of the rooms in the house had been vacant even before Tom was born and the whole third floor and the attic had been closed off due to water damage and erosion in the structural elements. The stairs beyond the second floor landing were supposed to be off-limits to Tom and his cousins, but it was great fun to sneak upstairs when their Nan was taking her afternoon nap or reading in the garden.

 

Tom and Hamish would dare the younger children to make a Terror Run through the long, empty hallways of the third floor, and the one who had the guts to climb up all the way to the attic and steal a feather from an old muff wrapped around a mannequin in one of the dark corners of the attic was declared the winner. Tom could easily make the Terror Run, but he never made it past the first few steps that led up to the attic, not after the spooky stories their Nan told them on rainy days in the library.

 

Tom opened the door to the drawing room where every piece of furniture was covered with white sheets. His Nan had had plenty of friends and acquaintances and she'd often entertained them in this very room. Tom brushed his fingers against the grand piano by the windows, wondering if his childhood lessons were still preserved somewhere in the back of his mind. One summer he and his cousin Pippa played ‘Heart and Soul’ together so many times that everyone else in the house got sick of their duets and eventually one of the piano wires went mysteriously missing, putting an end to their playing.

 

Tom nearly jumped out of his skin when the lamps in the chandelier above his head suddenly came to life.

 

"Sorry, mate. Couldn't resist,” Chris laughed from the doorway when Tom shot him an annoyed glare. "The generator's up and running, but I don't think we'll need the power in more than a few rooms since we're only staying for the weekend.”

 

 

They spent the remainder of the night making the place a bit more livable. Tom picked them a few rooms to settle into and closed off the rest of the house, locking the doors to make sure neither of them would open them by accident and let in the sunlight.

 

Most vampires preferred to move around and change their profession from time to time to avoid rousing suspicion, and Chris had had a few jobs after the staff at the theater no longer bought the explanation about him being a student. He had found a new job in construction through Lucie's connections two years ago, one that he loved and hoped to keep for a while. He picked up the tools he'd brought with him and went from room to room, installing proper blinds into the large windows while Tom tried to get the fireplaces working. The one in the study was so blocked that Tom nearly suffocated as he was enveloped in a thick cloud of decades old ashes.

 

"It would take years to make this place even remotely livable,” he sighed, stumbling back into the drawing room, coughing and sputtering, his face covered in black soot. "The chimneys are probably all full of swallows' nests, the pipes are most likely rusted shut and I'm sure the roof has its fair share of leaks and-”

 

"Oh come on, it's not that bad,” Chris said cheerfully. He grabbed a sheet from the nearest chair and used it to gently wipe at Tom's cheeks. "You know I'm good at fixing things. And soon we'll have all the time in the world,” he smiled, brushing his fingers along the shell of Tom's ear, giving his curly hair a light tug.

 

Chris' optimism managed to bring Tom out of his momentary slump, and he got back to work, making his way into the kitchen that was downstairs in the old servants' quarters.

 

The fridge was relatively modern and Tom filled it with bottles of blood and a few ingredients he'd reserved for his own meal. His stomach lurched with a mixture of nerves and excitement as he eyed one of the vacuum flasks in his hand, remembering the reason for their little weekend getaway.

 

Merriwall Hall and the entire estate had fallen on to Tom's shoulders when his Nan passed away a little over a year ago. His parents were both retired now and they spent most of the year in the vacation home they had bought in a quaint little town in the south of Spain, and Tom didn't want to burden them with property and money-related issues, allowing them to enjoy their retirement in peace.

 

The place was far from the power house it had once been, but the remote location gave them the privacy they would need for what they were about to go through this weekend.

 

"I reckon the sun will be up in about an hour,” Chris said as he walked into the kitchen. He came to stand behind Tom's back and wound his arms around his waist. "I finished putting up blinds in all the rooms we left open. Everything's safe now.”

 

Tom stared at the bottle of blood in his hands, lost in his thoughts. Chris took it from him and put it in the fridge, closing the door with his knee. He gave Tom’s hip a gentle squeeze. “You're not having second thoughts, are you?”

 

“What? Of course not.” Tom turned around in Chris' arms and cupped his face in his hands, stroking his thumbs along his cheekbones. “I'm ready for this.”

 

The decision to leave his mortal life behind had not been an easy one, and it had taken Tom over six months to come to terms with it.

 

He'd be giving up so many things, and the loss of them would surely sting for many years to come. His final show at the Palace Theatre a few months ago had been a bittersweet experience and Tom had spent the following week bursting into tears whenever something reminded him of the years he’d spent on the stage. Chris had tried his best to comfort him, playing his guitar for Tom and taking him out to his favorite pubs and restaurants, and as much as it hurt to give up something he loved so dearly, Tom knew he was making the right decision.

 

He could hardly even picture a life without Chris after ten wonderful years with him.

 

Tom had celebrated his forty-fourth birthday the previous winter and the knowledge that time was always going to be against them had slowly crept up on him. Chris had remained unchanged all these years while Tom had found his first grey hairs before he'd hit forty, and the physical gap between their ages was getting harder to ignore as it now spanned almost two decades.

 

It was Tom who brought up the possibility of leaving his old life behind. He couldn't say what exactly had put the idea into his head, but he suspected it was the death of his Nan, the big funeral and the aftermath of distributing her vast inheritance that finally opened Tom's eyes to the fleeting nature of his relationship with Chris.

 

Tom had woken up on the morning of his birthday to find Chris sleeping in the crook of his arm, clinging to Tom possessively, and Tom knew his birthdays were always hard for Chris, serving as a reminder of the diminishing years they had left together.

 

He had spent the day pacing around their flat as Chris slept, the idea of a new beginning slowly growing at the back of his mind. Chris had never asked Tom to give up his mortal life, and Tom was thankful for that, because he doubted he would have been ready until now. He'd had over forty wonderful years as a mortal and the best of them were the ones he'd spent with Chris.

 

Forty-four was hardly old, but they'd met a few elderly vampires over the years, and Tom knew he couldn't wait too long if he wished to spend the rest of an eternity in a relatively spry shape.

 

When he finally voiced his thoughts to Chris that evening, Chris had burst to bloody tears, and there'd been a brief moment where Tom couldn't tell if Chris was happy or horrified by Tom's suggestion. It turned out it was a little bit of both, and Tom knew what he asked of Chris was no walk in the park.

 

He'd spent the entire spring and summer trying to get everything organized and ready for his new life, and the hardest part so far had been retiring from the stage. His colleagues couldn't understand why Tom was saying farewell to the theatre almost twenty years before most thespians chose to retire, and Tom hadn't been able to offer them an explanation.

 

They'd replenished their blood supplies and gotten their final advice for the turning process from Lucie before the trip to Kent. She'd been their closest friend and ally since the night they first met her, and she’d gifted them a beautiful white coffin so Chris wouldn't have to bury Tom in plain dirt. It was waiting for them in a trailer behind the Ford, and Tom had given it a try in the living room of their London flat, but Chris had refused to even stay in the same room with the thing.

 

Tom had made no mention of it to Chris, but just in case something went wrong, he'd also visited the notary and made his last will and testament where he left most of his assets to Chris and his two sisters. He’d always been well off, and his share of his Nan’s inheritance would allow Chris to take care of himself for decades, maybe longer.

 

The one thing Tom still hadn't decided was how and when he would share the news with his family and his closest friends. He didn't want to hide like Chris who had waited over two years before he'd finally come clean to his family. The distance had made it easier to lie, but the secret had begun to weigh on Chris little by little, and since traveling all the way to Australia was difficult for him, Tom had suggested they buy Chris' parents plane tickets to London.

 

To say that the visit was memorable would be an understatement. Not only did Leonie and Craig finally find out that their son lived on human blood, it was also news to them that Chris was in a committed relationship with a man.

 

They broke the news over a barbecue in the garden, and the moment Chris revealed his fangs, his mother passed out on the terrace. It had taken his parents a few days to recover, and Chris spent those days pacing around the house and fretting about being disowned while Tom did his best to calm him.

 

“What if they never wanna see me again? What if they decide that from now on they only have two sons, because they think I’m some kind of monster?”

 

“They just need time to digest the news, darling. They’ll come around, I’m sure they will. Your family loves you, Chris.”

 

Chris’ parents did eventually calm down enough for them all to sit down and have a proper talk, and by the time they flew back to Melbourne, both Leonie and Craig were slowly coming to terms with Chris' vampirism. They’d visited London at least twice a year since then, and even Chris’ two brothers and their families had joined them once Chris trusted himself to be around Luke’s children.

 

Having seen the shock on Chris’ parents’ face, Tom was nervous about breaking the news to his own family, as it most likely wouldn’t go as smoothly as the day he’d come out of the closet. He’d been surprised and a tad disappointed when he found out that the knowledge that he fancied blokes wasn’t exactly news to anyone, not even his Nan.

 

“Tom, dear, we always knew and we love you no less for it,” his mother had said fondly as Tom had been about to deliver the big speech he’d been practicing every night in the dorms for two weeks.

 

The knowledge that his family had been so accepting of him would no doubt make it a little easier for Tom to break his next big news, but he made a mental note to make sure his mother was sitting down when he finally told them about his life altering change.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They were sleeping in the Red Room, named so after the dark red wallpaper and the burgundy drapes around the large canopy bed. It had always belonged to Tom’s sisters in their childhood and Tom and the boys had slept further down the hall. Tom let out a pleased cry when he saw that not only had Chris installed blinds on the windows, he'd also got a roaring fire going in the ornate fireplace.

 

Tom showed his gratitude with a light peck on Chris’ lips. Chris seemed to enjoy his reward and he leaned in, eager to deepen the kiss. “Not yet,” Tom laughed, pulling back. “I have to wash up first.” He wiped away some of the soot that had gotten on Chris nose. "You go and get ready and I'll be back in a jiffy.”

 

The ensuite bathroom had lost some of its splendor to a thick layer of dust that had gathered over the porcelain surfaces over the years. Tom turned the taps on the sink and recoiled when the pipes let out a loud wail, and for the first thirty seconds all that came out from the faucet was brown sludge.

 

Once the water had turned clear, Tom did a quick job of washing the remaining soot off his face. He went through his toiletry bag and began to brush his teeth, regarding his reflection in the mirror. He'd always led a relatively healthy life, but he'd spent the entire summer getting into the shape of his life. He'd never be able to match Chris' impressive physique, but he had managed to bulk up enough to feel rather pleased with the result. He was currently sporting a full beard, which Chris absolutely hated, but Tom wanted to have the option of facial hair in the future. He'd also let his hair grow out a little longer than he was used to, and he either combed it back with a ton of product or held it in a small ponytail with bobbles stolen from Chris.

 

Tom shuffled back to the bedroom, rubbing his hands together as the chill radiating from every nook and cranny made his skin crawl.

 

"Come on, I'll warm you up,” Chris said, already waiting for him in bed, his arms held open in an invitation.

 

Tom undressed as quickly as he could, hurrying across the room and climbing into the clean sheets Chris had put in the bed. He curled up against Chris' side, his head cradled against his large bicep. They watched the crackling flames in the fireplace on the other side of the room as Chris' hand settled on Tom's back, his fingers tracing softly up and down along his spine.

 

“What do you think we should do with this place?” Tom asked.

 

“We could fix it up,” Chris suggested. “Make it livable again.”

 

“But we can't possibly move here,” Tom protested. He loved the countryside, but he could never leave the bustle of the city to live in the middle of nowhere. “It's much too big for just the two us of. And I'm telling you now, I'm not becoming one of those Count Dracula-type vampires who brood alone in a giant old mansion.”

 

Chris gave a low chuckle that turned into a yawn. He scratched his chin, lost in thought. “We could think of it as an investment. What do people do with these old manors anyway?”

 

“I suppose this place would make a grand hotel,” Tom mused.

 

“Vampire friendly?”

 

“Oh darling, it would be the greatest vampire resort in all of Britain,” Tom grinned, burrowing tighter against Chris' flank. He wasn't entirely sure if either of them was being serious, but it certainly was a nice pipe dream.

 

The fire began to die down and the shadows on the walls grew deeper. Tom took notice of the way Chris' fingers began to quest lower until they were finally grasping Tom's left buttock. He craned his neck and leaned closer to give a few pecks along Chris’ jawline.

 

They watched each other, the tips of their noses brushing.

 

“Are you scared?” Chris asked, his voice barely above whisper.

 

“Of course I am,” Tom confessed. There was no point in trying to hide it. “But I'm also excited.”

 

According to Lucie, the turning was never easy, but the careful planning and all the knowledge they had gained over the years would make it a very different experience for Tom than it had been for Chris, who was turned against his will and never even had a choice in the matter.

 

They'd had a decade to adjust to Chris' vampirism, and many things had gotten easier over the years. They had even managed to make new friends and acquaintances in the vampire society in London. Most of it existed underground, but once they were in on the secret it was relatively easy for Chris to find others of his kind. Many of the vampires they met were regular people like Chris, doing their best to go on with their lives and happy to be around someone who understood what they were going through. But they had also come across a few older vampires who wanted nothing to do with them. They treated Tom with disdain and condemned their relationship, claiming it was either sheer madness or utterly pointless.

 

Chris had also begun to develop a peculiar skill that allowed him to influence others with a strange sort of hypnotic haze akin to telepathy, but he never used it on Tom, not after he accidentally lulled Tom into deep sleep while being handcuffed into their bed during one of their more adventurous nights in the bedroom.

 

Chris continue stroke his fingers along the plains of Tom’s back. He’d been putting up a brave face since they left London at sunset, but becoming a maker was a big responsibility and neither of them quite knew what to expect. He pulled Tom flush against his body, nuzzling at his neck. “I'm going to take good care of you,” Chris murmured, but Tom caught the tremble in his voice.

 

He splayed his fingers over Chris' heart, its beat almost undetectable. “We'll take care of each other.” Tom drew the covers aside and slung his leg over Chris' thighs, climbing into his lap and leaning down to lay soft kisses along the firm planes of Chris' stomach, feeling the muscles twitching as his beard scratched the smooth skin. “Do you mind if I'm on top tonight?” Tom asked, “I would love to come inside you one last time.”

 

Chris nodded his assent, and Tom lift himself up enough to allow Chris to turn over to lie on his stomach, which was his preferred position whenever Tom fucked him.

 

Tom ran his fingers up and down Chris' broad back, giving his shoulders a light massage before moving his caresses down to the firm ass. Tom’s hands often drifted down below Chris’ waistline when they were standing by a shop window or taking a walk in the park, and Chris always pretended to be a little scandalized by it, but Tom knew that deep down, Chris got a thrill out of it, just like Tom.

 

Chris parted his thighs a little to allow Tom easier access and Tom picked up the bottle of lube Chris had left on the bedside table. He slicked his fingers and began to open Chris up as gently as he could, knowing that Chris wasn't as used to this as Tom, as they both had their preferences in bed.

 

Chris was already turning a little sluggish with the impending sunrise, and he was relaxed and pliable under Tom's hands. Tom continued to fuck him slowly with two fingers, reaching up with his free hand to run his fingers through Chris' hair, which was cropped short to create an illusion of change, though their friends still continued to marvel at Chris' seemingly great genes.

 

When he was able to fit three fingers in without causing Chris to tense up, Tom finally deemed him ready. He slicked his cock with the remaining lube in his hands and rocked against Chris' hole a few times, stroking his long shaft and pulling the foreskin back. Chris let out a muffled grunt when the head of Tom’s cock caught on his rim and slipped inside.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Tom whispered, giving Chris’ left buttock a soft caress.

 

He fucked Chris in a slow pace, wanting to take his time to enjoy the feel of Chris' body underneath him and around him. Chris' hands squeezed around the corners of the pillow and he breathed out quiet sighs, his eyes closed and mouth curving up in pleasure. He looked so young beneath Tom, his face untouched by age, and Tom was almost a little envious that Chris would always be at his prime while Tom would spend his new life suspended in his mid-forties.

 

He leaned down to press his chest against Chris' back, dropping soft kisses along Chris' jawline up to his earlobe. Chris had begun to rut into the mattress, and Tom urged him to lift his hips to allow Tom to slip his hand beneath him and reach for his cock, which continued to swell and harden as Tom held it in a tight grip and let Chris fuck into his fist in time with his thrusts.

 

"Can I go a little faster?” Tom breathed, the coils of pleasure in his belly already coming undone.

 

Chris gave a nod, bracing himself against the mattress as Tom took hold of his hips and increased his pace, fucking Chris with everything he had, knowing his body wasn't likely to recover for another round before Chris would nod off to sleep.

 

"Almost there,” Tom gasped through gritted teeth, slamming his hips down with enough force to drive Chris into the bedding. "Almost there.”

 

Chris canted his hips up to receive Tom's powerful thrusts. "Come on, do it,” he urged. "Come inside me.”

 

Chris wasn't much into dirty talk, but Tom loved it and embraced the opportunity.

 

"You want it, darling? You want my come inside you? Shall I fill you up?”

 

"Please,” Chris sighed, fisting his own cock.

 

Tom let out a low grunt and drove into Chris one last time, his hips jerking against Chris' ass as he began to spill inside him, his cock shooting for what felt like ages. He was reluctant to withdraw, but his prick eventually went soft and slipped out, followed by a trickle of white. Tom leaned back and took hold of Chris' cheeks to spread them open. His cock gave one last jerk as his eyes drank in the sight of his own come leaking out of Chris' loose hole. "Can you push it all out, love?” Tom murmured, rubbing his thumb against the rim. "I want to see...”

 

Chris pressed his face into the pillows in what appeared to be a hint of embarrassment, but he pushed his ass up higher and continued to jerk himself off as Tom pressed the pad of his thumb against his hole to catch the come that began to leak out in thick, wet trails down Chris' perineum.

 

All his future orgasms would be dry like Chris', and Tom knew it was ridiculous, but he felt like he was losing a little bit of his virility.

 

He kissed the dimples on Chris’ lower back and stroked his fingers along Chris’ taut sac, feeling his entire body jerk as he finally reached his climax.

 

“Did you enjoy yourself, love?”

 

Chris nodded, nuzzling his face against the pillows and smiling contently. Tom eyed the skin between his inner thighs, which was still wet with traces of come. “I'll be right back,” he said, dropping a kiss on Chris’ shoulder.

 

He rolled out of the bed and went into the bathroom to clean up, but when he returned with a wet washcloth, Chris was already asleep, snoring lightly. Tom cleaned Chris as gently as he could, not wanting to disturb his sleep. He threw another log into the fire before climbing into bed, but it was a few hours before he managed to drift off to sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tom awoke late in the afternoon. Chris was fast asleep beside him, holding Tom against his chest, their limbs tangled in the sheets. Chris’ mouth hung open as light snores rose from his chest and the sharp ends of his fangs were peeking through his gums. It happened sometimes when Chris was in a state of deep sleep and had little control over his body. Tom had a feeling it had something to do with Chris smelling the blood that flowed through Tom’s veins, and the thought probably should have been enough to send him out of bed, but Tom knew Chris would never harm him.

 

He climbed out of bed as quietly as he could, and after he was done with his morning routines in the bathroom, he got dressed and made his way down into the servants’ quarter.

 

Tom walked around the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards in search of a kettle. He found one on the topmost shelf above the large stove, and the pipes wailed once more when Tom filled it with water. He took out a beautifully painted porcelain tea set from a large white cupboard and set it on a silver tray to prepare the last cup of tea he'd ever have.

 

Oh God, he was going to miss this, Tom thought ruefully when he finally took a sip of the hot, lemony tea. He'd bought himself three of his favorite pastries from the bakery in their neighborhood before they left, and he sat alone at the servants' old dining table, drinking his tea and stuffing his face with cake as hot tears began to roll down his cheeks. His quiet sobbing eventually turned to laughter as Tom realized how silly he must have looked, crying over a cup of tea.

 

He savored the sweet taste that lingered on his tongue, not leaving even a drop in the cup, and set back upstairs, deciding it was time for his final daytime stroll. Tom pulled on the pair of wellies he'd packed with him and threw on his black peacoat. He left a note for Chris by the front door, telling him where he'd gone in case he wasn't back by the time Chris woke up.

 

It was late September and most of the trees around the estate had turned a lovely shade of yellow and red, and the sun shone from a clear blue sky as Tom circled around the house, taking in the sights in the daylight. He remembered the conversation he'd had with Chris in bed last night, and he had to admit that the thought of restoring Merriwall Hall and turning it into a steady source of income did have its appeal.

 

He hadn't really given much thought to how he and Chris would spend the coming decades and centuries, but the thought of never running out of time was exhilarating. Tom's mouth split into a broad grin as he thought of all the things he'd get to experience and live through with Chris by his side. Perhaps the next time he stepped onto a stage it would be in a whole new country under a new name.

 

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, wet leaves rustling under the soles of his boots, and headed towards a small pathway, following it down to open fields that descended to their old swimming spot between steep, white cliffs.

 

 

Tom was a little disappointed when he discovered that the cave he and Hamish had found wasn't accessible due to the tide being too high, but he found himself a nice spot on the sand, and sat down to watch as the waves hit the shore, creating a tiny barrier of foam and reeds.

 

Part of Tom wished he could share his final sunset with Chris, but he also appreciated the opportunity to be alone with his thoughts. He pulled the collar of his coat up to shield himself from the cold east wind, his eyes fixed on the sky as it began to turn red.

 

Tom was surprised by how little he felt when the sun's last rays painted a glimmering bridge on the waves before finally disappearing into the horizon. He'd expected to have a little cry like he did with his last cup of tea, but there was nothing more than a vague sense of finality as the dark of the evening descended upon him, and Tom supposed he was so used to being up at night after ten years with Chris that he most likely wouldn't miss the sun the way Chris did.

 

 

Tom sat on the dark beach for a while, breathing in the salty sea air until his rumbling stomach distracted him from his thoughts. He dusted the seat of his trousers and took out the torch he'd slipped in the pocket of his coat, pointing the beam of light at his feet as he began to climb back up along the grassy path.

 

Tom was surprised to find Chris in the gardens near the old frog pond, digging the ground with the shovel they'd brought with them. His luminous eyes glowed like two small lamps when the light from Tom's torch hit his face.

 

“I, uh... I wanted to get this out of the way before you came back,” Chris said, pointing at the shallow pit he'd dug into the ground.

 

“Oh, Chris, you should have let me help,” Tom said, feeling a little guilty about dawdling on the beach while Chris was up here doing all the work.

 

“Wouldn't it be a little morbid for you to be digging your own grave?” Chris asked.

 

A heavy silence descended between them and they both eyed the casket Chris had dragged out of the trailer.

 

Chris backed away a few steps from the grave, shaking his head. “This is crazy...”

 

Tom could tell Chris was getting upset by the sight of the coffin. "It'll all be over soon,” he said, giving Chris' shoulder a comforting squeeze.

 

They lowered the coffin into the shallow grave, and Tom took Chris' hand, laying a few soft kisses on his knuckles. “Come on, let's get back inside and have some supper.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tom had been poring over his Nan's old recipe books before the trip to Kent, trying to decide what he would like his final meal to be. He supposed he should have gone with something fancy and expensive, but in the end, Tom had picked Beef Wellington, which had been his favorite for years. He did most of the cooking himself, but Chris hovered nearby, touching Tom every chance he got, peering over his shoulder, his hold on Tom's hips possessive.

 

Chris seemed to be getting increasingly worried as the evening wore on, and Tom was beginning to realize that tonight was probably harder on Chris than it was on him. Chris’ bulging muscles and towering height could be a little misleading, but Tom knew that out of the two of them, it was Chris who had always been more sensitive.

 

He finished preparing the red wine sauce and turned around in Chris’ arms. “Would you like to help with the potatoes?”

 

Chris nodded, and Tom watched as he began to cut the potatoes into thin slices, efficiently distracted from his worrying for the time being.

 

 

The main dining room was a little too posh, and Tom led Chris into the drawing room where the atmosphere was much cozier. He lit up the small table lamps and arranged a few throw pillows by the fireplace for them to sit on. They had found an old record player and a boxful of records in the saloon next to the study, and the room was filled with the slightly crackling voice of Connie Francis.

 

Chris sipped on a glass of O negative as Tom began to enjoy his final taste of Beef Wellington. He had always enjoyed cooking and he’d definitely miss eating solid foods, but Chris was proof enough that the liquid diet wasn’t so bad, and the thought of living on human blood didn’t leave Tom that shaken anymore. He knew it was a necessity, having witnessed all the struggles Chris went through during the first two years of their relationship, and as long as the blood came from willing donors, Tom would have no problem indulging in it.

 

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he was about to put the last forkful of roast potato into his mouth. "Here goes.” Tom chewed as slowly as he could, savoring every morsel and patting his full belly with a satisfied smile splayed across his lips.

 

“Do you think things will be different after tonight?” Chris asked. The flames cast long shadows on his face and he looked a tad apprehensive.

 

“Well, I imagine there will be a few changes,” Tom said with a playful twinkle in his eyes.

 

“No, I meant- I meant between us,” Chris elaborated. “I'll be your maker, and Lucie is always going on about how the bond is as deep as the one between a parent and a child and two lovers all at once. Won't it be weird?”

 

“I really can't say. We'll just have to wait and see.” 

 

 

* * *

 

 

They had agreed to do the turning at midnight. It was a little past eleven now, and the air of nervousness Chris was giving off continued to grow more tangible. They had been through every step many times, but Tom knew there really wasn't any way to prepare for having to first drain and then bury someone you loved in the ground.

 

Chris emptied his glass of blood and got up to put on another record, and Tom moved to sit on the cream-colored sofa by the fireplace, leaning against the arm and parting his legs to allow Chris to settle between them. “Come here,” he said softly, pulling Chris into his arms.

 

Chris pressed his cheek against Tom’s shoulder, and Tom began to run his fingers through Chris' spiky hair, scratching his scalp gently with his blunt nails, knowing how much Chris enjoyed it. He often joked about how Chris was like a large cat and all that was missing was the purring.

 

“We don't have to do this if you're not ready, you know?” Tom said. “It's your choice, too, Chris.”

 

Chris craned his neck to meet Tom's eyes. “I do want it,” he said, voice sincere. “But I'm also scared shitless. What if I screw up something?”

 

Tom leaned in to press a kiss to the bumpy bridge of Chris' nose. “Everything’s going to be fine,” he murmured. “I trust you.”

 

They spent the remaining time listening to the mild tunes of Miles Davis, and when the record reached its final track, Tom decided it was time.

 

“Chris...” Tom began, doing his best to hide the small waver that had appeared in his voice. “I want you to know that I love you and-”

 

“No, no, no,” Chris shook his head, leaning back from Tom's embrace. “Don't you dare say goodbye.”

 

Tom brushed his knuckles against Chris' cheek. “Please, darling, let me finish, ok?” Chris gave a reluctant nod and allowed Tom to continue. “I want you to know that I'm so thankful for the years we've had together, and I've never been happier with anyone.”

 

“Me neither,” Chris smiled, settling back into Tom’s arms.

 

“I know this is hard for you, but after tonight, we'll have an eternity together. We can do a bit of traveling and I’ll take you to all my favorite places in Europe. And maybe we'll fix this place up too? Would you like that?”

 

Chris nodded, giving a small smile, and it seemed Tom's words had managed to calm him enough for them to go through with their plan.

 

“Alright,” Chris said, “let's do it.” He went to turn the record player off and turned to look at Tom as if he was waiting for instructions.

 

“Should we do it outside by the coffin?” Tom asked.

 

Chris shook his head. “It's raining and I want you to be comfortable. I can carry you there when- when it's done.”

 

“The sofa then?” Tom suggested.

 

“That'll do, yeah,” Chris nodded, his responses short and terse.

 

They spread the plastic cover they'd brought with them over the sofa, not wanting to ruin the expensive fabric with drops of blood in case there were spills. Chris sat down and spread his thighs a little to allow Tom to climb into his lap.

 

“Is this alright?” Tom asked when he was straddling Chris' thighs, his knees pressing into the cushions.

 

Chris nodded and wound his left arm around Tom's back to pull him a little closer until their bellies were pressed together. Tom felt his other hand settle behind his neck, and he noticed the tremble in Chris' fingers as he wound them in his curly hair.

 

Chris stroked his thumb against the nape of Tom's neck, smiling at him fondly, their faces only inches apart.

 

Tom closed the small distance by leaning in for one last kiss. “I love you so much,” he murmured against Chris lips, and Chris echoed his words into their kiss.

 

“Ok, you ready?”

 

“Yes,” Tom nodded. His heart was threatening to beat out through his rib cage and he knew that if they didn't do this now, he'd get cold feet.

 

Tom closed his eyes as Chris bent his head gently to the side to expose the long column of his neck. There was the familiar sting when Chris pierced his skin and drew the first drops of blood from his jugular, followed by a rush of arousal, which both of them ignored.

 

Tom’s breathing soon grew heavy and ragged, but he continued to hold on to Chris' shoulders as Chris drank from him, rubbing comforting circles with his fingers until the room around him began to spin as his vision swam. Chris had drained him to this point only once and a familiar rush of panic bloomed in Tom’s chest when he realized he was about to lose consciousness, but he closed his eyes, welcoming the darkness as his hold on Chris' shoulders slipped, his chest deflating and body going limp in Chris’ embrace.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Chris continued to drink even after Tom had passed out in his arms. He felt Tom's heart gradually slowing down where his lips were pressed against Tom’s pulse point, dropping from the wild, nervous hammering to slow flutters until it was barely even there. The taste of blood was overwhelming as always, but Chris tried to be careful, restraining himself and controlling his inner greed. When the flow of blood began to diminish, Chris withdrew his mouth and sealed the tiny puncture wounds.

 

Tom's body slumped against his chest like a giant rag doll, inert and unmoving.

 

"Tom?” Chris rasped hesitantly. As expected, there was no answer.

  

Chris set Tom gently on the sofa, unable to hold back the small trickle of bloody tears as he stared at his lifeless face. Tom's skin was so pale it was almost blue, and Chris began to fear he had drained him to the point where his heart no longer beat. He grasped Tom's hand and pressed two of his fingers against his wrist, breathing a sigh of relief when he felt the faint beat of Tom's heart.

 

Chris hurried to roll up the sleeve of his shirt. He brought his own wrist to his mouth to pierce the skin with his fangs and watched as two drops of blood welled in the wounds like tiny red rubies until they began to spill down his arm. Chris crouched down next to Tom, cradling his head in his hand, pressing his bleeding wrist to Tom's slightly parted lips.

 

Nothing happened. Tom didn't move or react to Chris' offering in any way. "Tom, please...” Chris whispered, pressing his wrist tighter against Tom's mouth.

 

His blood continued to flow out of the small wounds, running into Tom's coarse whiskers and down his pale neck, pooling on the plastic cover. "Tom, please, don't do this to me,” Chris repeated over and over, until finally, Tom’s body jolted and his jaws fell open. His nostrils flared and his mouth latched on to the bleeding wrist as he began to drink.

 

Chris was a little startled by the greed Tom displayed once he'd gotten his first taste of blood. The suction was so hard it was bordering on painful, but Tom continued to take his fill. His eyes were open, but they appeared glazed and unseeing and Chris doubted Tom was even aware of his presence.

 

He attempted to pull his hand away when he began to feel light-headed, but Tom refused to let go, holding on to Chris' wrist and biting into his skin with his blunt teeth.

 

“Tom, that's enough,” Chris panted, a small defensive growl resonating from his chest. He wrenched his hand away and licked the wounds to seal them.

 

Tom slumped back into the cushions, growling at Chris until the noises turned into pained whines and he began to squirm and thrash on the sofa as his body began the slow and agonizing process of dying.

 

Lucie had told them how the most painful part of turning was the moment when the vampire's blood flowing through the mortal's veins robbed the body of what life remained in it, eventually killing it.

 

Chris got on the sofa and cradled Tom in his arms, holding him against his chest as Tom shook and convulsed with pain, sinking his blunt nails into Chris’ forearm. He was no longer able to speak, the only sounds from his mouth broken wails and cries. “It's alright,” Chris whispered, pressing his hand on Tom's brow. “It'll be over soon.”

 

The pain lasted much longer than Chris had anticipated and it was long past midnight when Tom's muscles jerked feebly once last time before he finally went completely still, his face slack. His eyes remained open, staring into emptiness, and Chris brushed his fingers across them to close them.

 

There was one more step left.

 

Chris gathered Tom's body into his arms and carried him out of the house into the garden where the grave he had dug for Tom waited in the darkness. It was still drizzling a little from the heavy clouds that hung above them, and Chris felt like he was in some gothic nightmare.

 

He settled Tom's body into the casket as gently as he could, straightening his limbs and making sure his head rested on the tiny silk pillow. Chris placed Tom's arms over his chest, but he didn't like how it made it look like Tom were truly gone for good, and he ended up settling them at his sides.

 

Chris was reluctant to close the lid, and he took almost a quarter of an hour to stare at Tom's expressionless face. “I'll see you in a little while,” Chris said, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Tom's brow before finally closing the lid.

 

He grabbed the shovel and began to cover the casket with dirt, the sound of tiny rocks and gravel hitting the lacquered surface of the coffin making his skin crawl. He kept his eyes fixed on a nearby tree, and didn't turn to look at the grave until it was all covered up.

 

  

* * *

 

 

Chris wandered from room to room as the night wore on, and the hours seemed to stretch on to infinity. The house felt empty and desolate without Tom, full of strange smells and sounds, and Chris missed their cozy London flat. He missed the sight of Tom's messy study where every surface was stacked with old scripts and Chris' guitar tabs. He missed the smell of books in their living room and how Tom's aftershave lingered in every shirt he wore and was always strongest in front of the dresser in their bedroom. He missed their quiet evenings in bed when Tom would stroke Chris’ hair while he read to him, and Chris had even grown to enjoy the old plays Tom loved so much, even if he didn’t always understand the meaning of some of the words and phrases.

 

It had barely been three hours, but Chris missed Tom so much he felt shaken to his very core.

 

He returned to the drawing room to put away the plastic tarp that had covered the old antique sofa, doing his best to ignore the red stains and the coppery smell of blood. He wandered around the room, taking in the ornate furniture and the intricately decorated drapes and cushions, feeling totally out of place. Chris grew up on an old farmstead and their home was often in a state of disarray if their mother had more than two evening shifts a week and their dad was left in charge. On those days, Chris and his brothers were little hellions, roaming the woods barefooted and dragging in mud and leaves as they marched into the kitchen to shovel down food between their games.

 

Tom had told him plenty of stories about his boyhood years, and Chris had always known they came from very different backgrounds, but somehow being in this old house really hammered it home that Chris had never been to fancy private schools, and the most valuable thing he had owned before coming to the UK was his piece of shit Camry that would either leave you in the middle of the dusty roads in a 100 degree heat or refuse to start at all. Tom had insisted on upgrading Chris’ wardrobe when he first moved in, but when he was a kid, most of Chris clothes were hand-me-downs from Luke, always three sizes too small, making Chris feel like a giant, gangly weirdo. It wasn’t until Tom that Chris finally learned to dress himself in ways that brought out his best assets. Tom made him feel comfortable in his body, and the fact that they were nearly of equal height made it easy for Chris to seek simple comfort in the crook of Tom's arm, which was something he'd found difficult to do in his previous relationships.

 

And despite their different backgrounds, Chris had never been happier with anyone. They had their mundane little arguments like every couple, but most days Tom was his best friend and someone he knew he could always rely on. Chris didn’t really believe in fate, but sometimes he wondered how different things would have been if Tom’s bedroom window hadn’t been open all those years ago.

 

He eventually climbed up the stairs and withdrew into their bedroom, rummaging through Tom's suitcase for his favorite cardigan and draping it over his shoulders before crawling into bed, pressing the cuff of the sleeve tightly against his nose, Tom's familiar scent soothing his frayed nerves.

 

Chris slept fitfully through the rest of the night, but he awoke briefly before dawn and went to the window, which had a direct view of the grave. The mound of dirt appeared untouched in the dark blue shadows of the early morning, and Chris climbed back into bed, falling into restless sleep.

 

He continued to be jolted awake throughout the day by nightmares until he finally woke up in the late afternoon hours, unable to stop thinking about all the ways this could go wrong as he lay in bed, waiting for sunset. Lucie had been very clear about the risks, and both Chris and Tom had known exactly what they were getting into.

 

Chris was lucky to have survived his own turning process, as most abandoned newborns burnt to a crisp during the first twenty-four hours after climbing out of the dirt. There was always the possibility of draining the mortal to the point where their heart stopped beating if the maker couldn't control their blood lust, and if you failed to give the mortal enough blood during the feeding process, they would never reanimate in their grave. But surely Tom had had enough? Chris had needed three bottles of blood to recover.

 

Some vampires climbed out of their graves too early and met their end due to being too weak to survive, and it was important for the maker to remain nearby to protect their fledglings. The thought of Tom climbing out before he was ready made Chris anxious and desperate to get to the grave. He rolled out of bed and walked to the window, knowing it wasn't yet dusk, but he barely had time to peer out through a narrow crack in the blinds when the skin on the left side of his face began to burn and blister where sunlight touched it.

 

Chris let out an angry snarl and stalked out of the room, rubbing the heated spot of skin on his cheek as it began to slowly heal. He felt frustrated and helpless, unable to do anything but wait. He'd wanted this for so long and the fear of losing Tom to old age had been something Chris had harbored in his heart since the early days of their relationship, but this new fear of losing Tom due to Chris' own failure was even worse.

 

He tried to distract his anxious mind with reading, but the book shelves in the study had nothing but old volumes of boring local histories and biographies of people Chris had never heard of. He rummaged through his tool box and began to fiddle with the pipes in the kitchen, tightening knobs and bolts that didn’t need tightening.

 

Chris had always been good with his hands and he would often spend hours in the workshop at the back of their yard, watching his dad work on the furniture he sold as a side business. Chris would sand blocks of wood and hammer nails into a big stump his dad had hauled in for him from the woods, and he could name every tool in the shed by the time he was eight.

 

On the summer he turned ten, Chris and his dad had built a tree house in the big oak that grew by the creek behind their backyard. It was one of Chris’ fondest memories. Luke had been too busy hanging out at their neighbour’s house after the girls of the family hit puberty, and Liam was still too young to be allowed to leave the porch. It had been just Chris and his dad, and Chris had cherished every moment since being the middle child sometimes left him feeling like he didn’t get quite as much attention as Luke who was the eldest or Liam who was always the precious baby of the family, even after he grew up.

 

Tom had helped Chris to turn the spare bedroom in their London flat into a small workshop and Chris had spent the last few years fixing up their home, often surprising Tom on his birthday with something new, and little by little, the place had gone from an old lady’s house to a modern but cozy place that Chris, too, could call home.

 

 

It did eventually grow dark and Chris spent the entire night guarding Tom's grave, pacing around the small mound, listening for sounds or signs of life underneath the thin layer of dirt. He tried to sense Tom with his new skill, but failed to make any kind of connection with Tom's mind, which meant there was nothing to connect with. Tom remained dead within his coffin.

 

Chris had no idea how long his own turning process had taken, but according to Lucie, the average vampire took one day to be reborn. Chris began to grow increasingly worried when dawn approached once more and Tom's grave stayed silent.

 

Chris was eventually forced to return inside as the sun began to rise behind the house. He dragged himself to the drawing room and put on Tom's cardigan, his large muscles stretching the fabric and most likely ruining it, but it was the only comfort he had. He curled up in one of the arm chairs, but he was unable to fall asleep as feelings of guilt and fear continued to cloud his mind. Chris had no idea what he would do if Tom never woke up, the thought almost unbearable. How could he possibly live with the knowledge that he had killed someone he loved?

 

 

* * *

 

 

Chris awoke at sunset to Tom's presence next to him, his voice clear in his ears.

 

_“Chris.”_

 

Chris' eyes snapped open, but as he looked around, he realized he was still alone in the dimly lit room. And yet it felt like Tom was right there with him, calling his name. He began to feel a strange pulling sensation at the center of his chest and realized that the voice he heard was inside his own head.

 

Chris sprang up to his feet and hurried to the front door, dashing into the garden as fast as his feet could carry him.

 

He grabbed the shovel and began to dig, the voice in his head growing louder.

 

Tom was alive and calling for him, and Chris could feel his desperation to be let out of the grave. As soon as the shovel struck the casket, Chris dropped to his knees and used his hands to clear away the remaining dirt, yanking the lid open.

 

“Tom!”

 

“Chris,” Tom gasped, voice raspy. He tried to sit up, but he fell back against the silk lining, too weak to support his own weight, and Chris could tell he was even paler than before, his fangs already pushing out of his gums.

 

Chris reached into the coffin and pulled Tom out and into his arms, burying his face in the crook of Tom's neck to inhale his scent. “I was so bloody worried,” Chris sighed, peppering Tom's face with wet kisses. “You're ok,” he murmured, rocking Tom back and forth in his arms. “You're ok.” The relief of having Tom's solid weight in his arms was almost overwhelming, but Chris was slowly becoming aware of a familiar disquiet and deep emptiness he hadn’t felt in years, and he realized he could feel Tom's hunger as if it were his own.

 

And Tom wasn’t just hungry, he was _starving_ , shivering almost uncontrollably in Chris' embrace.

 

“Chris,” Tom panted, “Please, I need...”

 

Chris felt Tom's mouth closing around his neck, his fangs already scraping at the skin, and he pulled back before Tom had a chance to sink them into his flesh.

 

“Come on, there's plenty of blood waiting for you inside.” Chris helped Tom up to his feet, holding on to his shoulders when he swayed. “Can you walk?”

 

Tom gave a feeble nod, and they began the long walk back to the house along the weed-covered stone paths. Chris kept a keen eye on Tom the whole time, watching his every step, ready to catch him if he fell. He wondered if he'd been this weak during the first moments of his rebirth, or if Tom's condition was worse due to him being almost twenty years older.

 

They made it to the front door before Tom lost what little strength remained in his limbs. Chris caught him as he collapsed and took him in his arms, carrying him the rest of the way. By the time they reached the servants' quarters downstairs, Tom was threatening to fall unconscious, leaning heavily against Chris' chest, his head lolling against his shoulder.

 

Chris set Tom down on the wooden island in the middle of the kitchen and hurried to the fridge to pull out four flasks, one of each blood type. He eyed the crystal glasses in the cupboard, but when he remembered his own first few feedings, he reached for a large porcelain bowl instead, pouring the contents of the first bottle in.

 

Tom sat up the moment the scent of the blood reached his nostrils, surging across the kitchen to snatch the bowl from Chris' hands. He began to drink with greedy swallows, his fangs clinking against the rim of the bowl, and Chris noticed they were a little longer than his own.

 

The sight of blood brought forth the usual hunger in Chris, but the regular feedings had helped him to learn to control it and his fangs remained hidden in his gums.

 

“More, please,” Tom panted when the bowl ran empty, licking at his crimson lips. Chris poured in the second flask and he took note of the way Tom's cheeks gradually began to turn pink with an inner vitality as his strength returned to him.

 

“More?” Tom asked again, holding the bowl out for Chris, and Chris filled it for the third time. He remembered the greed he'd felt when he'd had his first taste of human blood, and he could have drank until he burst if Tom hadn't been there to quite literally knock some sense into his head.

 

When Tom had emptied all four bottles, Chris could tell his hunger was almost quenched, but he knew Tom would most likely empty the entire fridge if Chris didn't stop him. “Alright, that's enough for now,” he said firmly, taking the bowl from Tom's hands.

 

Tom let out a long, stuttering breath, the expression on his face utterly content. The feeding had gifted him the illusion of life, and he appeared just as he always did. Tom still looked his age with the small crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, and his hairline was still a bit higher than ten years ago. And yet, Chris could sense there was something fundamentally different about Tom.

 

”How do you feel?” Chris asked.

 

Tom shook his head, struggling for words. “I- I don't know?” He regarded Chris and their surrounding with an awed expression on his face. “I suppose it's the little things that are different. My senses feel so heightened. But it’s more than that…” He came to stand beside Chris, scenting him and taking his hand in his own, giving it a little excited squeeze. “Can you feel it?” Tom asked, and Chris knew exactly what he meant.

 

There was a connection between them that hadn't been there before. Chris was aware of Tom in a whole new way, and it was almost as if there was an invisible thread between them that connected their thoughts and emotions. Chris could sense Tom's excitement as he tried out his new senses, listening to the mice scurrying about in the attic, and breathing in the smell of a thousand meals cooked in the kitchen over past decades.

 

Tom leaned into Chris’ arms, cupping his face. "You're my maker now,” he whispered, and the words brought forth a strange new sensation in Chris, a mixture of love and possessiveness and a fierce need to protect.

 

He wound his arms around Tom's waist, nuzzling at his throat, still able to sense the now invisible mark he'd left there two nights ago when he’d ended Tom’s mortal life.

 

“I missed you so much I thought I'd go off my rocker," Chris choked out. It had only been two days, but it felt like they'd been parted for a lifetime.

 

“Oh, love, it's all over now," Tom said with a gentle look in his eyes. He chuckled when he noticed Chris was wearing one of his old cardigans, the fabric stretched taut around his biceps and broad shoulders.

 

 

It was a little past supper time, and rain continued to patter against the windows behind the blinds they had drawn in front of them.

 

“So... What do we do now?” Chris asked.

 

“Well, this might sound a bit boring,” Tom scratched his beard, which was matted and clumpy with patches of dried blood, “but I think I'd like to have a long, hot bath.” He ran his hands up and down Chris' flanks. “Care to join me?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tom slid the razor down his jaw with careful precision, his eyes fixed on the round mirror he'd propped on the narrow wooden caddy that was suspended between the edges of the clawfoot bath.

 

The air was humid and warm with the steam rising from the water, but neither of them felt the heat the way they used to.

 

Chris’ arms were wound around Tom's waist beneath the surface, rubbing small circles and tracing the muscles beneath the skin. He'd been unwilling to let go of Tom since they got in the bath, but Tom embraced the affection, knowing how hard the last two days had been for Chris.

  

“I'm almost done," Tom hummed as he felt a trail of kisses on his shoulders. Chris pressed his chest against Tom's back and watched Tom shave off the last bit of facial hair. Tom set the razor down on the caddy and wiped his face clean with a small towel. "Better?" he asked, meeting Chris' eyes in the mirror.

 

“Much better," Chris nodded. He leaned in to stroke his nose along Tom's smooth cheek. “The bloody thing was prickly as hell. It was like kissing a porcupine.”

 

Tom gave Chris a playful nudge with his elbow, but Chris wound his arms around Tom's waist even tighter until Tom was cradled between Chris' thighs, their bodies flush against each other. Their long limbs didn’t leave much room in the bath, but Chris enjoyed the close proximity. He cupped Tom's chin and leaned down to press their mouth together in a languid kiss, flicking his tongue playfully against Tom's lower lip.

 

Tom surged up, deepening the kiss and Chris felt a powerful jolt of arousal at the contact, and when they parted, he realized it had come from Tom.

 

Tom’s pupils had grown into dark disks, and Chris felt his want and need for him in his own loins. Tom turned around, the soapy water sloshing in the porcelain bath, pushing Chris against the sloped edge to nibble on his jaw and lower lip.

 

Chris parted his thighs as wide as he could in the narrow space, pulling Tom between them, and his cock was already hard and aching where it lay against his belly.

 

“Had I only been conscious, I would have missed you too,” Tom murmured. He ground down against Chris' stomach, equally hard, spilling water over the edges with his eager movements. “I think we should take this to the bedroom.”

 

Chris didn't need to be told twice, and he was out of the bath in a heartbeat, pulling Tom with him. They hurried into the bedroom, leaving a wet trail on the hardwood floor, and fell amid the thick bedding, exchanging harsh, open-mouthed kisses, rolling around in an unspoken struggle for dominance.

 

In the end, it was Chris who ended up flat on his back with Tom straddling his thick, wet thighs.

 

Tom reached for the lube and squeezed out a thick dollop of the cool liquid onto Chris' fingers, guiding them between his legs.

 

“Get me ready, darling," Tom urged.

 

He poured more lube on Chris cock, slicking the head and running his fingers along the shaft, which was hard and warm in his grip.

 

Chris let out a low grunt and reached down between Tom's thighs, spreading his cheeks to press the pads of his slick fingers against Tom's entrance, rubbing and circling the twitching muscle and coaxing it open.

 

Tom continued to stroke Chris' prick, thrusting against his fingers as they fucked shallowly in and out of him, his movements greedy and impatient, and Chris could sense he was full of insatiable desire from the earlier feeding.

 

“That's enough,” Tom breathed, “I’m ready.”

 

Chris withdrew his fingers and grabbed hold of Tom's hips, lifting him up enough to slide his cock along Tom's cleft, rubbing the head against the loosened hole. He let out a surprised gasp when Tom reached down and took hold of Chris’ cock to sink down on it in one fluid move.

 

“Christ, Tom…”

 

Chris was still struggling to catch his breath when Tom began to ride him, eager and impatient and desperate all at once, and Chris felt each emotion and sensation as if they were his own.

 

He held on to Tom's hips, but it was Tom who set the pace, fucking himself down on Chris' cock, scratching his chest with blunt nails and mouthing at his clavicles. His fangs were pushing out despite the feeding, and the sharp ends scraped against the sensitive skin around Chris' nipples. There was a dull flash of pain when Tom pierced the flesh, lapping at the blood that welled up in the small wounds.

 

Chris let out an involuntary growl, but he allowed Tom to enjoy the taste and take his pleasure, thrusting up with his hips, a familiar pressure already building in his groin. The taste of blood seemed to heighten Tom's lust, and he had a dazed, slightly overwhelmed expression on his face as he rocked down, meeting every thrust of Chris’ hips, the wet, rhythmic slapping of their skin filling the room. His untouched cock bobbed in the air as he licked Chris' blood from his lips, the head swollen and an angry shade of red.

 

Chris took hold of Tom's erection with his right hand, and wrapped the fingers of his left hand in the long curls at the nape of Tom's neck. His upper lip curled back to reveal his fangs, and the moment he was about to come, Chris pulled Tom down to sink his teeth into the supple flesh of Tom's shoulder.

 

Tom cried out and came, his orgasm sharp and intense. Pleasure exploded where their bodies were connected and the canopy above the bed shook as Chris jerked beneath Tom, his cock pulsing in a dry orgasm. A deep, possessive rumble resonated from his chest as he lapped at the slow trickle of crimson that flowed from Tom's neck, the smell of blood and arousal overwhelming his senses.

 

When he’d taken his fill of the rich, coppery taste, Chris sealed the wounds and loosened his grip on Tom's hair, allowing him to sit up and catch his breath. A hint of disappointment passed over Tom's features when he glanced down to where Chris' fingers were still wrapped around Tom's cock, completely dry in spite of the powerful climax.

 

Chris gave a sympathetic smile. “You'll get used to it.” He stroked his hand up and down Tom’s cock, which was still hard and throbbing with blood that wasn’t his own. “And there are some advantages,” Chris smirked. He reached between their thighs to slip out of Tom's body, taking both their cocks in his fist and pulling Tom down to slip his tongue between Tom's parted lips to share the taste of his own blood as he jerked them both to another orgasm.

 

Tom slumped against Chris' chest, shaking his head in disbelief, still rocking into Chris' fist. “I haven't been able to do that since I was in drama school.”

 

“Mmm, not bad, old man,” Chris chuckled. The dominant streak that had flared up earlier simmered down, and Chris allowed Tom to pull him into his arms and spoon him from behind.

 

“So... any regrets?”

 

“No regrets,” Tom whispered, his breath tickling the shell of Chris' ear, and Chris could feel the content, happy smile on his lips. "We're going to have so much fun, you and I." He brushed his fingers through Chris' short, spiky hair and placed a chaste kiss to the top of his head. “Carpe noctem,” Tom declared. “Seize the night, darling.”

 


End file.
